The Love of The Game
by DarkElements10
Summary: Deleted Scene from It's The Rush That You Get. Kendall and Riley talk about their love of hockey and baseball. (This is from chapter 45 of the story; Emotionless).


**The Love of The Game**

**By: Riley**

**Summary ****- -Deleted Scene from It's The Rush That You Get. Kendall and Riley talk about their love of hockey and baseball. (This is from chapter 45 of the story; Emotionless).**

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_"I can't think of anything else that would go to the rest of the song though," Kendall said with a frown._

_"Well, that's the point of songwriting," Riley said as she gently put his guitar on the floor. "I'm going to take a cue from you and say it's kind of like baseball." She pushed her pigtails over her shoulders. "You know how pitchers always look at the batter and then they look away for a moment, and then look back at the batter, yeah?" She cracked her knuckles. "Well, it's a focusing thing. If you focus, focus, focus on the pitcher and try to strike him out you won't. But if you focus on the picture look away for a moment to regroup and then take the pitch, you'll strike him out._

_"So if you take a break from songwriting or music in general for a while, and then go back to it later, you'll be able to," Riley made the sound of a baseball bat hitting a baseball by clicking her tongue in the side of her mouth. "Knock it out of the park."_

_Kendall laughed. "Do I sound that annoying?" He asked, running a hand through his hair._

_"You have no idea, Hockey-Head."_

"Don't think that I didn't notice that you used a baseball analogy," Kendall said, lowering the hockey magazine that he was reading. Riley, who was lying on the end of his bed, her feet on the floor, holding a book over her face, turned her head to the side, confused. "I didn't know that you liked baseball so much."

"What gives you that idea?" Riley asked, turning her attention back to her book.

"Well, from your guys' reactions, the only times that someone uses a sports analogy is when they're, like, in love with the sport," Kendall said.

"That brings new meaning to the term 'for the love of the game'." Riley dropped the book onto her chest. "Not a lot of people know that I love baseball." She thought for a moment. "Not that I don't like other sports, especially extreme sports, but baseball is one of my favorites."

"How come?" Kendall asked as he sat up, tossing his magazine aside. "I mean, it's nothing like hockey."

"I know," Riley nodded once. "It's better than hockey." She then snorted. "And the Wild? Sorry, but the Ducks are better."

"Excuse me?" Kendall turned his head to the side, turning his ear directly towards her. "I must have misheard you; did you just say that baseball is better than hockey?"

"Obviously you didn't mishear me, mate," Riley replied shortly as she put her book down and sat up. "Because that's _exactly_ what I just said."

Kendall's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Oh come on, in hockey you have to have skill to skate on the ice, the endurance to take a hit and keep going, and the power to knock all of your opponents out of the way and the fans go nuts over you." He pointed at her. "I have yet to see how a baseball game can get that sort of reaction."

"Baseball you have the endurance to run back and forth between bases if you get caught in a pickle," Riley started to count off on her fingers, her accent creeping into her voice as she continued. "There's the skill to get double and triple pays, and the power to get a good pitch or a good hit to get a homerun."

"You're just using what I said back at me, that's not fair," Kendall's eyes narrowed.

He couldn't help it. If it had anything to do with hockey, good or bad, he got passionate about it. And when he was passionate about it, it could easily be described as obsessive, or him becoming defensive about it. He couldn't stand anything why someone didn't like hockey. It threw him for a loop when Jo calmly admitted that she hated it. He nearly had a heart attack then and there. But now to have someone say that another sport was _better_? He'd admit that football ranked pretty high up there, and soccer too, but hockey was number one.

Definitely _not_ baseball.

Riley shrugged, which irritated Kendall even more. He wasn't sure if she was doing it on purpose, but whether she was or not, it was still making him mad.

"All right," he slid off of his bed and grabbed his shoes. He lifted his foot and jammed it inside. "I'll show you what I mean about hockey and you show me what you mean about baseball."

"Are you sure that your blonde little head could take in all of that information?" Riley asked as she stood up, putting her hands in her coat pockets once more. She was, in a way, trying to psyche him out, using his insecurities against him. One of his insecurities was the fact that people treated him like he was a dumb blonde. He got them to realize that he was more than intelligent after a few moments of speaking with him, but that stigma could easily be held over his head when he wasn't expecting it.

"Ha ha," Kendall stood up and grabbed his hockey stick from the corner of the room. He then frowned as he thought for a moment and then dropped the hockey stick before ducking under his bed. He moved a few boxes of trading cards around before he finally found a baseball bat and a glove that he had discarded there years ago. "Here" He tossed it over to Riley, who caught it in her right hand with ease.

Kendall then turned on his heel and left the room, leading Riley towards the front of the house. Katie looked up from her computer when the two of them passed her room. Katie reached up and slowly pulled her headphones off of her ears when she noticed the determined look on Kendall's face and the hockey stick in his hands. She sighed.

"Just like always, huh bro?" She asked herself, shaking her head.

Kendall took a breath as he stepped out the front door, waiting for Riley to pass him before he closed the door behind her. He could help but let thoughts of his father creep into his head as he went over to the garage to get the hockey goal. As soon as the garage opened, he thought that what he was doing was a bad idea. Boxes were littered all over the garage, waiting to be pushed back into obscurity. He had meant to do it years ago, but it was too painful. The boxes were filled with things that his father had left behind when he first walked out on them. Kendall walked over to a box and placed his hand upon once, lightly running his fingers over the edges.

He briefly wondered why he always did this; why he always went out to the garage and just stand there looking at the boxes when he knew that it was just going to make things harder for him. Everything about his father made things harder for him. He couldn't even think about the trial that was coming up or helping his friends without the selfish thoughts of his father being beaten swirling through his mind. He couldn't hardly go a day without looking in the mirror and seeing a mini reflection of his father staring back at him and he hated it. It was always brought up when people that didn't know of their situation would mention how much he looked like his father. When he was younger, he _lived_ to hear the words "I'm proud of you, son" form his dad after a practice or a game or even getting a good grade on his report card. Now all he heard was Gustavo screaming at him whenever he did something wrong. Now, he would rather listen to that than hear his father's voice ever again.

Kendall let out a breath through his nose as the wind blew his hair off of his forehead.

His hand slid off of the cardboard box as he moved across the garage to grab onto the hockey net. He picked it up, it being lightweight plastic, and dragged it out of the garage down to the end of the driveway. When he was finished, he went back to the top of the driveway and picked up his abandoned hockey stick and started to run back and forth, up and down the driveway, twisting and turning the stick in his hands as he went through the familiar motions of the game, but on his feet rather than on skates. He concentrated on the way that the stick moved through his hands, the way that it moved over the ground as it did when he and the guys were kids and it hadn't snowed. It didn't matter to them whether it was winter or summer, they would play hockey as much as they possibly could. Even when James's backyard pool would be open for the summer, they wouldn't go in until they had played a full game in the street.

Cars had been damaged, windows had been broken, fights would break out among the kids that were playing, and yet, he would still love everything about the game. The competitive tension that rose through the air fueled his adrenaline and made him play that much better.

Kendall slowed down his movements and gazed at the hockey goal that looked back at him. He turned on his heel and went back into the garage, grabbing a puck. He turned around and held it in his hand before turning to Riley, who was standing at the side of the driveway.

Her hands were buried in her coat pockets and she had been watching Kendall the whole time that he had been outside. Not in a creepy way, but in a way that she was sort of watching to see what kind of person that he was, trying to get a handle on him. This was the guy that wanted to be her friend even after she called him a 'Large Eyebrowed Freak', very rudely, and he still helped them through everything that she and her siblings had been through. She didn't understand him in the slightest, but at the same time, she liked it that way. People that were so open about everything that they felt, honestly, annoyed the crap out of her, so it was good to see that there were some people out there that were in the same boat she was, though with different stories that made them that way.

"All right," Kendall held the puck in his right hand and held it in the middle of his palm before rolling it around his fingers. "Why Hockey is better than baseball." He smirked over at Riley, who raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue with his obvious presentation. "First, It's a good idea to know what you're getting into before you even try to get immersed into hockey. One important thing to remember; it will be cold. The game is played on ice, and the rinks need to be kept at a low temperature so that the fast-paced, action packed hockey game will not become a sluggish, barely moving splish-splash show." He tilted his head to the side. "Though I think you already know how cold it gets." He said tauntingly.

"Do you want that hockey stick shoved up your nose?" Riley asked calmly. She said it as if she was pointing out that the wind was blowing.

"No," Kendall said simply.

"Then don't provoke me, boofhead," Riley replied.

"Anyway," Kendall rolled his eyes. "If you don't dress for the cold there is always those crazy people at hockey games, huddled into themselves, cursing and mumbling about the lack of heat." He pointed at her. "Kind of like you guys."

"I'm warning you," Riley said in a low tone.

Kendall ignored her. "More often than not, these people are not wearing proper clothing for the circumstances. I suggest jeans, a T-shirt, and a sweatshirt, or just a long sleeved shirt/sweater. An item that should factor into your outfit is a good pair of running shoes. Sometimes you will find yourself needing to run very fast and very far, and you don't want to twist your ankle in a pair of stylish-yet-unstable heels. Then you have to think about where to sit. For instance, if you plan on annoying other spectators, sit as far away from the action as possible so that you can keep up an endless litany of "What happened? What just happened? What happened when I asked 'what just happened?' What happened..."

"Uh-huh," Riley nodded.

"If you plan on throwing things at the players, sit closer to the boards surrounding the ice. If you want to be yelling at the players, or the other team's fans, sit with a large group of people. If you choose the third option, be prepared to be yelled at, and quite possibly chased after. Your running shoes are particularly useful for this option."

"I'm guessing you've experienced that firsthand," Riley said, mimicking Kendall's earlier taunting tone.

"You'd be surprised," Kendall remarked, thinking back to how the girl's field hockey team had chased him and his friends shortly before they went out to LA. He held his hands as if trying to tell Riley to contain her excitement. "Everything gets better when the game actually starts. For example, when a member of the other team checks your teammate, use all the insults in your mind to express your indigence. When your team gets a goal, passionately cheer out your pride. Whenever the appearance of blood or a fight makes itself known, just make happy noise, because you can't go wrong with a bloody hockey fight. "

His eyes then turned dark and he looked serious.

"But let me tell you, when a member of my team is checked and is pressed up against the sideboards, I suddenly know that the other team is a 'ball-sucking, gap-wearing, piece of shit!'". He shrugged. "Now, if we were playing and you checked one of my buds into the boards, then I'd kill you."

"I don't doubt it," Riley agreed. "Anyway, I was wondering when we get to the point that you _show_ me how great this sport is." She tilted her head back and looked at the sky, as if bored. Kendall could tell that she was indeed bored; when she tilted her head back down and looked at him. Then a weird look crossed her face as she stood up straight. "You don't have to answer this if you don't want to…but did your dad teach you how to play hockey?"

"Uh, yeah," Kendall nodded and dropped the puck to the ground. "He played for the minors, couldn't get to pro." He made a face. "I kind of think that he resented having me and Katie because it drove his dreams that much further away, but then he went into being a lawyer and he started teaching me how to play." He put both hands on the hockey stick and started to move the puck around the driveway. "And I never stopped."

Kendall played a game of hockey by himself. As he ran back and forth across the driveway, a smile came onto his face. He imagined playing against the hardest opponent that he had ever faced, his movements being broadcasted over the loudspeakers in the rink, the screams and cheers of the fans that were watching him play. He could feel his adrenaline spiking even as he continued to smack the puck into the back of the net and pulling it back out over and over again. He didn't stop until he had reached his target of ten goals.

"Of course it's harder when you're on skates and have tons of hundred and fifty pound men throwing their body weight at you," Kendall wiped sweat off of his forehead and turned to Riley. "But it's still a tough game."

"Mm, and I'm sure that not everyone has their own announcer for the game," Riley said with a slow nod. She then lowered her voice, mimicking him. "Kendall Knight fakes past the defense and enters the blue line…goal!"

"Do you always mock people?" Kendall wiped sweat off of his forehead as he walked over to her. "Or am I just noticing it?"

"Is it not fun for you?" Riley slowly gave a peaceful smile. "Because it is for me."

"I figured," Kendall said shortly. He reached down and picked up the baseball, looking at it with disdain. "So, show me how this is so great." He held his hand out, smacking the ball into her palm. He then picked up the glove. "Here"

"You're going to need that more than me," Riley waved it off before walking back across the front lawn to get a good distance away from him. "Are you ready?" She asked casually, tossing the ball up and down in her hand. Kendall shrugged and then held up his glove. Riley took a second to compose herself, looking at him and then looking over his shoulder.

Kendall smiled.

_"I'm going to take a cue from you and say it's kind of like baseball. You know how pitchers always look at the batter and then they look away for a moment, and then look back at the batter, yeah? Well, it's a focusing thing. If you focus, focus, focus on the pitcher and try to strike him out you won't. But if you focus on the picture look away for a moment to regroup and then take the pitch, you'll strike him out. So if you take a break from songwriting or music in general for a while, and then go back to it later, you'll be able to…knock it out of the park."_

Riley stepped forward like an NFL Quarterback. Then she launched her right arm forward and snapped the ball towards Kendall. It spiraled perfectly, and it spun so fast it whistled. Kendall's hand stung when it snapped into his palm.

"Nice throw," Kendall said evenly, downplaying it.

"Thanks," Riley tilted her head and right it in the span of a second, raising her right shoulder at the same time. He threw it back to her and she gave him an exaggerated pitying look. "Maybe if you threw the ball right you could do it too." She threw it back.

Scowling, Kendall mimicked Riley's form and tossed the ball, but it wobbled through the air and clacked about ten yards away from her. Riley stood still but looked over at the ball. "I said throw it right, not like a five year old."

"Shut up," Kendall replied.

Riley walked over to the ball and scooped it up, throwing it to Kendall before grabbing the bat and moved back to where she was sitting before. Kendall watched as she swung the bat, which was in her right hand, in a large circle a couple of times. Probably her ritual before she batted. Kendall understood that. Before a game started, he had a ritual of taking two laps around the ice and then kissing his fingertips before touching the ice.

He never failed to do it.

No matter where he was.

Kendall pitched the ball, hoping to catch Riley off-guard (maybe take her down a peg) but Kendall swung her bat and it _cracked_ against the ball. The ball launched high into the air and vanished into the night. Kendall winced when he heard a crash and the sound of a car alarm starting to go off. Riley rested the bat on the ground and put her free hand to her hip.

"One of the best things about baseball is the fact that it can easily be related to life," Riley said. "Life has a funny way of throwing you a curve ball when you least expect it. Depending on how you're standing or when you swing your bat, you'll either hit a homer: crowds cheering, faces gleaming, the feel of the wind in your face as you come up on home plate, or you swing and miss: you hear the ump yell "strike three!": a unanimous gasp from the stands and a sinking feeling in your throat as you realize you just lost the game.

"But some of the best things about it are that there's no time limit; it's not over until it's over. You play until someone wins or loses, there's no draw and there's no ruling of having to stop if you're a certain amount of point ahead. You have nine innings of sheer terror, not knowing if you're going to win or lose. Not including extra innings. Then there's the fact that there's no instant replay; from calling balls and strikes, fair or foul, safe or out, the game is completely under the umps' control, which adds to the fact that ultimately, you can only control how you play your game."

She looked down at the bat once more. "But just like any other game, depending on the person's preference, the sport-"

"Is life," Kendall finished for her. He walked over to her and reached out a hand to take the bat. He twisted it in his hands. It had the familiar feel of a hockey stick, but it wasn't exactly the same. He held it in his hand and mimed swinging it at the same time that Riley moved her hands to say something, and he caught her on the wrist. "Oh, god!"

"Ouch!" Riley pulled her hand back, moving it against her stomach. "Son of a bitch!" She shook out her wrist and then winced, rubbing it again.

"I'm sorry," Kendall said, immediately dropping the incriminating object from his hands. "I didn't mean to. Are you ok? Do you need some ice?" He moved forward and felt around her hand, it was already starting to swell. "Let me get you some ice."

"I don't need ice," Riley said, already calm. "I'm fine." She held up her hand and shook it to prove her point, though a stab of pain shot up her arm. "See? I'm ace. It's fine. No worries."

"Well," Kendall gave a light laugh. "It's like Gretzky says; Ninety percent of hockey is mental and the other half is physical."

Riley eyed him warily. "So you _mentally_ planned to _physically _hurt me?"

"No," Kendall laughed, tilting his head as he looked at her wrist again. "I would never do that." He noticed Riley's stare. "What?"

"Nothing," Riley said. "It's just…I think I'm finally starting to understand you."

"Is that a good thing?" Kendall asked, dropping her arm. He noticed that she didn't flinch when he had checked to see if she was ok.

Riley's eyes narrowed. "I'm trying to figure that out." She then gave him an accusing glance. "You know, when you're not trying to murder my arm."

"Are you sure you don't want some ice?" Kendall asked again.

"No, I told you, I'm fine." Riley took a step back away from him. She looked away from him, a troubled look fall over her face as her eyes scanned the area, as if looking for someone. Kendall followed her gaze, but couldn't find anyone. "I should be getting back to the hotel anyway."

"Well, at least come inside for something to drink first," Kendall insisted.

"Fine."

**THE END**

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**A/N: **All right, so this is the first of a few (maybe six or so) deleted scenes from It's The Rush That You Get. As soon as I had finished the chapter Emotionless, I knew that this had to be a scene because I have never really gone into the fact that Riley obsesses over baseball (though to a lesser degree of Kendall and hockey) and how the two have their love of sports in common.

I have more one-shots coming up, one is a Lella one and that is most likely be the next one I do.

Cheers,

-Riles


End file.
